


The Offering

by Lexarius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexarius/pseuds/Lexarius
Summary: A different tradition, and a brother in need of healing.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The Offering

The Offering

* * *

_**England** _   
_**Diagon Alley** _   
_**Weasley's Wizard Wheezes** _

Are you sure? I need to replenish our reserves of Peruvian Darkness Powder, and I already have the trip to Peru all planned."

"George, I am just as surprised as you are. But it does check out. The best ingredients are not actually harvested in Peru."

"Well… then where?"

"Mexico."

"Are you trying to cheer me up with a prank, Harry?"

"No. You know I'm not the best at pranking. Not even passable."

George Weasley sighed. "I know, br… little brother."

A heavy silence fell between the two. It was Harry who broke it. "I miss him too."

George swallowed the lump in his throat, and passed an arm over Harry's shoulder. A comforting gesture gesture for both. "I know. I know. Everyday I expect to see him."

Harry nodded. George continued. "You know why I let my beard grow?"

His friend shook his head.

"I cannot stand to see myself in the mirror." He closed his eyes. "Angelina thinks it's because of my ear." He smiled sadly, caressing the mangled flesh. "It's because every time I shave, I see Fred looking back at me. And it breaks my heart every single time. The first week I broke all the mirrors we had at our…" a tear fell down his face, he wiped it distractedly. "At our flat." He finished.

"I just…" he waved a hand, trying to explain. "I don't know… I just stared at my reflection, waiting for Fred to talk to me, he usually was the first one to say something. I was there, standing with the razor in my hand, my face full of foam. Just staring, Harry. Just staring at my brother. Waiting for him to talk." His voice broke in a ragged sob. "I don't know how to explain it, that emptiness in my chest."

"George." Harry whispered softly, when his friend raised his head after a long time. "I know how it feels."

"Do you?" There was no anger in the question. "How can you know it, little brother?"

"It was back in my First Year. Do you remember the three headed dog?"

George nodded. "Oh, yes." He smiled a little, remembering, " it scared us out of our skins, that ruddy dog."

"Us too. Ron, Hermione and me."

"Well… close to where Fluffy was guarding the entrance to a lower room, Dumbledore had another thing stored. A bloody mirror."

George imitated Hermione's voice. "Honestly, Harry. Language."

Harry chuckled, George had it down. From the voice, to the tone, even his facial expression were all Hermione's. He continued, shaking George's shoulders. "It was a standing mirror, a magical one."

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall…" George intoned, "who is the Harryest of them all?"

"Be serious, George!" A moment later, Harry's face fell, remembering his late Godfather, who loved that awful pun.

"Sorry, it was not my intention. Please, go on."

"It's okay. Well… it had a strange inscription on top. I can't even say it from memory, but the thing was called The Mirror of Erised. It doesn't show your reflection, but what you really, in the bottom of your heart, what you really want."

George gasped. "I…" he hesitated.

"It showed me my family." Harry looked up. "Dad, Mum, holding me close. I had never in my life up to then… I had never felt loved, George. Never." The lone twin didn't know what to do. He knew Harry had been gravely mistreated by those animals. Denied everything but scraps. And even those, given with hate and disdain. It was a wonder he had turned out as a good guy.

"I spent several nights there, just looking at that illusion. Even then, I knew it was not real. But I had to be there to feel them. And you know what? Later that year, when Hagrid gave me the album of pictures he had collected for me, the people from the mirror didn't really match with the pictures. But these, even in pictures, these were my parents."

"I didn't know that, Harry."

"It's okay, George. It was a long time ago. Maybe someday I will tell you more. When we are both ready. Right now," he stood up brusquely, slapping his thighs, "we have to plan your trip."

* * *

**_Late October  
Mexico City  
Hernandez Household_ **

"Welcome to my humble home, Mister Weesli." The Mexican wizard slapped George's back, almost knocking him down. "Sandra! Cariño!" He bellowed, "tenemos visita!"

A dark skinned woman came down the stair. She smiled widely, wiping her hands in a hanky she put into the pocket of her apron. "Well…come…" she said, frowning. She shook her head and said to her husband, "Apenas me medio acuerdo de mis clases de Inglés, Sergio! Dile que es bienvenido a la casa y que su cuarto estará listo en un ratito."

Sergio Hernández kissed her in the cheek, pinching her bottom at the same time. She slapped his hand playfully. "Que va a pensar el señor?!"

Sergio laughed, and winked at her, "Que mi esposa es la más linda de la ciudad!" He turned back to George. "My wife doesn't really speak English, but she says your room will be ready in a few minutes."

"Ah, um," George opened the common phrases book Harry had given him, smiled awkwardly at both, and said "Grass-ee-as, sen-eeora Err-nan-dess." He raised his eyebrows questioningly, hoping he had not mangled the words too badly.

Sergio nodded in approval. "Good enoff, Mister Weesli!" He nodded, tilting his head to the left. "You'll need a bit of practice, but that's okay, no one is born knowing. Now, you must be tired and hungry." He checked his watch, "We eat in half an hour, you're welcome to join us, but," he raised his right index, "I suggest you don't add the salsa to your food. My wife is famous for her home made guacamole, and she likes it really, really spicy!"

George nodded, "I've heard the stories. It can't be that hot, I mean."

Sergio laughed again, George would have compared it to Hagrid's booming laughter, but his host actually sounded even louder than the half-giant! "Don't say I didn't warn you. Well, I'll just ask Sandra to reserve a bit of guacamole with less chili."

* * *

Half an hour later, George Weasley realized that Mexican food could be both delicious and a torture at the same time.

He put a bit of the curious green stuff on the meat on his platter, "Seg-ooro keh no peeca?" He said, remembering the phrase book phonetic instructions.

"Quite sure, this may be just a little hot, but just a little. Kid stuff, really." A child of about six years, with a wild mop of hair that reminded George of Harry's own, though short and quite spiky, signaled George for permission to take a small spoonful, George nodded, unsure of what to say.

The boy, Manuel, George remembered the name, proceeded to take a tortilla, putting some pieces of chicharrón on it, spread the guacamole over the crispy pieces, rolled the tortilla, and bit into it with evident pleasure.

"See? Kid stuff!" Sergio boomed.

However, Sandra filled George's glass with fresh watermelon juice, diluted in water and with just a little bit of sugar added. "Por si las moscas." She said.

"What did she say?"

"Actually… it doesn't translate well, but it means 'Just in case.'"

George did follow Sergio's instruction, under Manuel's expectant gaze. George recognized the gleam in the boys eyes. He and Fred had it just before springing a prank!

'I'm about to make a mistake. I know…' he thought. He cut the meat, and without hesitation, he chewed. The taste was amazing! He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the favour and texture.

He nodded as he swallowed, "Mui sav-rosso!" He said, and it was then when it hit him. His tongue began to get warn, then hot, and finally, he felt as if his whole mouth was on fire! He fanned his hands desperately, looking around. Sergio put the glass in his hands, and George drank it in three frantic gulps!

Sandra had already poured another, and gave it to him.

George managed to empty the whole jar of watermelon water. He gasped and wiped his face with a hanky, still fanning his mouth.

"Esta bien, Señor Weesli?" Sandra asked. George nodded spasmodically. "Yeah, I think… That has quite a punch!"

With all seriousness, Sergio pontified, "Mister Weesli, if a Mexican says a salsa isn't hot, it is hot. If he says it's mildly hot, it is very hot. If he says it is very hot, it is extremely hot. And if he says it is really, really hot, you better have your will registered and your affairs in order." Then he broke laughing. "I mean it!"

"And this was?" George gestured at the little dish.

"Not hot."

Sandra took the dish, replacing it with another. "Es solo aguacate con sal. Sin chile."

Sergio translated, while Manuel snickered "Avocado with a pinch of salt. No chili. I trust you'll find it to your liking." He smiled again.

With some fear, George tried it. But just as promised, it was not spicy at all.

* * *

That night, Sandra and her grandmother, decorated a small table near the dining room. There were some pictures, and, to George's surprise, small skulls made of sugar or chocolate among the bright orange flowers.

Sergio pulled two chairs to the backyard, and sat with George. He had brought a couple of beers from the kitchen and gave one to George.

"Curious?"

"Yeah. In England we celebrate both Halloween and Samhain, we plácate the angry ghosts, at least, symbolically. I had never seen sugar skulls." He scratched his head, puzzled.

"We are a complicated mix of traditions, Mister Weesli. Some from our native ancestors, some from our Spaniard ancestors. But the short version is this. We remember our departed in this form. Tradition says that the night of October the 31st, the veil between the land of the living," he sweeped his hand around, "and the land of the dead, gets open, and the ghosts of our late relatives have permission to come up for a visit. We, the living, put an altar for them; an offering, with their pictures, so they know we still remember them. That night, we prepare their favorite food, and put it in the altar, so their spirits can eat once again."

"And they do eat it?" George leaned forward on his chair.

"Symbolically, yes. They eat the… the essence of the food, because they are spirits. We do get to eat the rest, of course." His smile was full of memories. "Come, I'll introduce you. And explain the meaning of each part of the altar."

* * *

**_October the 31st_ **

****_Back in England  
George Weasley's Flat  
Early Evening_

George arranged the table just as Sergio and Sandra had shown him. On the table, a jar of water, a little bowl full of salt, several lit candles, incense, cempasúchil flowers (those had been a bit of a problem at customs, until the inspector determined the plants were not magical), a petate (kind of rug/tablecloth/bed, made of woven fibers), a small ceramic dog, a round bread Sergio had called "Pan de Muerto" (Bread of the Dead), a picture of Fred, a plate with Fred's favorite dinner dish, a sandwich with bacon, butter, tomato and cheese. George had barely managed to prepare it, the memories kept coming. And finally, two chocolate skulls. Both twins preferred chocolate to candy. On the forehead of one, Fred's name, lovingly written on a small piece of paper; on the other, George's name. Of course, under each paper, there was another, with the other's name. Fred would have approved.

George checked his altar once again.

"There's water, Fred, for you to drink. Salt, to keep your spirit pure. Candles, to light your way. Incense, to keep evil spirits away. You know who you are, guys, you are not welcome. The flowers," George scratched his head, "I'm not really sure about those, but that's how I was shown, so here they are, I hope they will guide you here, brother. The petate… I had never even heard of it, but well, today is a mantlecloth. The izcuintli, the toy dog, to keep you company in the way here and back. The bread, well… it is very tasty, I'm sure you'll like it. And a sandwich, just the way you liked it. Be welcome to this humble dinner, Fred. I miss you."

George set everything as Sergio and Sandra had shown him. He lit the candles, making sure there was nothing flammable around, and setting a few fire-proofing charms, just in case. "Ah, I almost forgot." He poured two measures of firewhiskey in two glasses. He took one, and clinked it against the other, "For you, Fred, the best brother I could have asked for. Cheers!"

And he drank it in one gulp. Two puffs of smoke came out of his ears. He sat on a comfy chair, watching his offering.

And remembered his late brother, until he fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

For the first time in a very long time, he felt at peace. The emptiness in his chest would be still there in the morning; but for now, just for this night, Fred and George Weasley were together again.


End file.
